Radium Therapy

This is a very difficult blog to write.  In fact, just thinking about it has almost given me "blogger's block."  So, before I begin, I want you to know that I loved my mom very much.  She was a unique personality--and she taught me to be strong and most importantly that "home" was not four walls or a specific place, but "home" was my family and wherever they were--I was "home."

I want to write this, though, because for the past seven years I have worked in the "retirement living industry" managing an independent retirement residence.   I have cried with, commiserated with, laughed with, and even stomped my feet in frustration with many, many daughters.  I've hugged and soothed many mothers, too.  Why?  It seems daughters and mothers--especially those who are "strong willed" and passionate about life, sometimes (as my mother would say) "butt heads."  Because I often felt guilt and even anger and often frustration in my relationship with my mother I thought it was "just me."  I figured everyone else must be much nicer people than me--that they didn't ever want to run screaming out into the street and yell:  STOP!!!!  I CAN'T TAKE THE GUILT  ANYMORE!  So, I with this preamble--I write this blog.

RADIUM THERAPY

Several years ago my husband, daughter, brother, mother and I went on vacation together to our timeshare in Winter Park, Colorado.   Mom and I saw an advertisement in the elevator of the condo for a free mixer that included "great door prizes."  No way my husband or brother were going to attend---so mom, my daughter & I went for our free glass of wine, cheese tidbits and hopes of a door prize.   Of course it turned out to be a sales pitch--but we resisted and stayed till the end--and (woo hoo!) we won a free white water rafting trip for 2 down the Colorado River.  (OK, I was thrilled--mom wasn't.    Mom was in her mid-70's and had suffered a stroke--otherwise she would have led the pack down the river).

Leaving mom alone at the condo (can you tell how loaded that comment is?), my husband, daughter, brother and I headed off to the wild (not) headwaters of the Colorado River.  White water is a bit misleading.  Much to my relief, it was more like white ripples.  Not being a good swimmer, I was relieved to find it was more of a float trip along a very scenic part of the Colorado River. 

Let me interrupt the story to tell you a bit about my state of mind at this point in my life.  This vacation came right after a very stressful time at work that had meant a lot of long hours and extra week-ends, etc.  Mom had suffered a stroke the year before and recovered well, but my whole family was spending a lot of time helping her. Mom called me every morning at 6:30 a.m. and as soon as I walked in the door at night.  She and I both were frustrated at her lack of independence.    I developed a weird disease called chronic urticaria (chronic hives) that was only relieved by taking a steroid pill (which made me feel totally insane).   I literally felt as if my world was coming apart at the seams and that I had no control over anything in my life.

So--here we were, floating along the Colorado River.  We came to a bend and the guide pointed to a little settlement of maybe six houses.  Picture a dirt road, a railroad track and six little wooden houses.  "That is Radium, Colorado," he said.  "You almost can't get there--unless you take a long and rough dirt road.   The train drops the mail off once a week. Phone service is unpredictable. The residents there are almost cut off from the rest of the world."  I sat up in the raft--he had just described my dream abode.   You couldn't get there from here?   It would be almost impossible for people to visit?????  Wow.  Let me move there now.  I forced myself to make a mental photograph of Radium in my mind.  Oh, how I wanted to jump off that raft and swim ashore.  Thank goodness my swimming skills were limited, or I would be living there now.

Think how blissful.  No phone.  No Internet.  No 6:30 a.m. call making me feel guilty all day.  No boss with another crazy deadline.  Obviously I must have been dreaming I had won the lottery, too--I never considered what I would "do" to live.   I think I actually prayed, "Please, Lord, please.   Please let me live in Radium."  

Instead life went on and I eventually quit my pity party.  Dan and I "retired" and began working together managing a retirement residence.  My hives went into semi-hibernation...and life was kinda sorta normal.  But every so often, when I thought I couldn't take it...I'd take a mental trip to Radium.    My Radium therapy.

Mom fell a few years after that trip to Colorado and we discovered her back was like a fragile egg shell.  I was living in Dallas.  I would often take off on Tuesday afternoons and drive to Oklahoma City only to get up the next morning to get back to work in Dallas by 11:30 a.m.  On Thursday afternoons (our last work day of the week), Dan and I would drive to OKC to help mom and go back to Dallas on Saturday night in order to be at work on Sunday morning.  I would try to make arrangements for help for mom through home health or even a short stay in an assisted living community near her home--but I wouldn't make it to the Red River before she would call me and say she changed her mind.   Mom had a strong support group of friends who helped her, but instead of working with me and what I was trying to do--they would often go along with her plans and assist in undoing whatever I had set up.   I often wished I had a brick wall to bang my head against.  Instead, I would take "Radium therapy" and mentally visit that little town and wish.   Just the knowledge that there was a place on earth where it was difficult to be found, contacted or get to seemed to give me peace.

(After one trip alone to Oklahoma City, it seemed that every car that passed me on I-35 was either a convertible or a Wrangler Jeep with the top down.  I was driving a plain Jane Saturn stick shift with a radio and not even a C.D. player.   I pulled into our parking area and told my husband:   "We're either going to go get a Jeep or you are going to find a way to cut the top off this Saturn."  We got our first Jeep that night).  See, going insane sometimes has benefits.

Unfortunately, my mom did not get better and passed away that spring.  She had always told us that she did not want to live past age 80.  She was 78.    Our life became much quieter and I still miss those stupid, irritating 6:30 a.m. phone calls.  And I still take Radium therapy when life gets tough.

Last summer we found ourselves again at Winter Park.  This last year our good friends, Kathy and Dave, joined Dan and me on our trip.   We decided to take the jeep to the Colorado Headwaters Scenic Byway.  I looked at the map and saw a thin line that was the road to Radium.  I only had to ask Dan once--"Can we go there?"   He knew how much that little village meant to me.  So, 17 miles off the main (dirt) road we bumped along until we came to curve and a bridge across the river.  Fittingly,the first house we saw had a donkey in the front yard (to symbolize my stubborn tenacity at hanging on to this pipe dream?).  I am sure my good friend Kathy confirmed in her mind that I was insane when she saw Radium.   "Do you STILL think you want to move here?"  Yes--yes, I do...if only in my mind.

The Colorado River Scenic Byway--looking at the train track below

Me--under the road sign to Radium.  I am sure there is some subliminal reason

I decided to give the "Peace" sign in this photo.

The Radium Donkey



Road to Radium





Kathy, Dave and Dan--"Where does she want to go??"



Dan and Dave--On the Road to Radium

Why God Made Those Fly Over States

Jason Aldean has a beautiful song out right now called "Fly Over States."   It is about some guys on a flight across the U.S. looking down on the middle of our country--looking down at the "fly over states."    Those of us from Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, etc.--we've all been on the receiving end of the pitying comments from our coastal friends--poor, poor, pitiful us for having to suffer the deprivation of living where it is brown, flat & nothing to look see (or at least that is their opinion).  If they only knew....

   

"On the plains of Oklahoma
With a windshield sunset in your eyes
Like a water colored painted sky
You'll think heavens doors have opened
You'll understand why God made
Those fly over states."

Last night God finger-painted the sky.   I think He looked down on these fly-over states and smiled.

 

Wild Horses

A quick drive today from Bartlesville, OK to Sedan, KS could have meant driving our usual route of Hwy 75 to Caney and over to Sedan.  Not a bad drive...but one we make a couple of times a week.  Today was one of those just pretty days and when the intersection with Hwy 75 and Hwy 10 came up...the pick up truck just almost turned west on Hwy 10 on its own.  

Its a fun road--better driven in the Jeep but the pick up had to do for today.  First you go over the Copan Lake Dam (which is high because of recent storms).  Then curves and up and down the hills and into the valleys.   A motorcyclist's dream road.   Everything is so green and wild flowers are in every ditch and gully.  The fields are yellow with mustard.  Another curve and across Hulah Dam!

And then there are the horses!   Many of the large ranches here in Oklahoma are home to the Bureau of Land Management's wild horse program.  There's controversy about this program--but there are no words to describe the beauty of a wild horse herd.  To see them running and drinking from the ponds is truly breathtaking.  

But the best is the sound.  Stop the truck.  Get out and listen.  You can hear the wind...the caw of a crow...and the horses--soft blowing of their breath, a whinny...thank  you, Lord, for the horses and for those that keep them and care for them. 

The Farmer's Wife's Iris--The nitty gritty details

The nitty gritty details:

Camera:  My Nikon D80

Lens:  Sigma 150-500 mm

Aperture; f/10; ISO: 400; White Balance: Auto

The iris were in a very shady spot--growing in the weeds.   I wanted to achieve a "Monet" type softness in these photos--sort of a "water color" feeling.  I used my "big" lens because I'm the city cousin...I'm too scared of snakes and other creepy crawlies to wade into the under brush!!  My Sigma 150-500 mm lens allows me to "get close" without being close.   What a chicken!

The Farmer's Wife

My paternal grandmother is probably the one who instilled the fascination I have with abandoned houses.   We would pass a ramshackle, falling down and abandoned home and Grandma Eva would say, "A perfectly good house...."--leaving the open-ended question of what happened?  Where did the people go?

Just around a couple of corners from the Farm (around the field, across the bridge and make a left) you will come to the "Goose House" (or its remants).   I don't know why we call it the Goose House.   Ever since I can remember, no one has lived there--human or goose.  I've never stepped foot in it--not even the yard.  I'm the chicken cousin.  My brave cousins have explored it, though.    I would stand on the road as my cousins peaked and prodded through the doorways and windows.   I remember that there used to be a dining table and chairs...the kind of chairs with carvings on the back.  I was so sad to think that a family just up and left their table.  What about all of the times that they sat around after supper discussing their day?   Didn't that table warrant taking with them?  Now there is nothing more than a memory that a house was there--a few pieces of wood and a rusty old car in the yard.

Now the house is gone, grass and weeds and trees growing where once a family grew.

I stopped by there a couple of days ago.   Several deer were hiding in the rubble and I stopped to try to snap a shot before they ran off into the woods.  Once I stopped, I started taking photographs of the trees and rocks across the road.  Something made me turn back around towards the house.   The sun was just right & a beam spotlighted a yellow and purple iris.  Looking closer, I found more iris blooming.  Who planted them?  Was it the farmer's wife?  Was there once a plan to where they grew?  Along the walk from the front door to the road perhaps?  How long ago were the first bulbs planted?  Did my Grandma Ruby and her sister, Nell, drive their buggy past on their way to school?  Or perhaps they were planted later, when my mother and my aunts were girls--did they walk by and pick an iris to give to Grandma?

A perfectly good house...with a reminder that it was once a home.